


of all the riches.

by falconeggs



Series: bright lights. [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-31 21:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18322502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconeggs/pseuds/falconeggs
Summary: Patrick Brewer is an actor and music superstar, with millions of adoring fans worldwide. David Rose is a pioneer in social media influencing, with a successful reality show chronicling the life of him and his family. One ostentatious evening, the two celebrities meet.Or, the Celebrity AU no one asked for.





	of all the riches.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine Patrick with the acting credits of Leo DiCaprio and the musical sound of Hozier, and David with the fame and following of every Kardashian-Jenner combined, and you’ll see where my headspace is at with these two. 
> 
> There are some references to homophobia, but they’re very light. This is mostly just a fluffy, famous!au that I probably spent too much time writing. This is just barely edited, so please forgive any and all mistakes! If you wanna hang, I’m @focksii on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!

“Rachel Howard CONFIRMS SPLIT from Patrick Brewer!

“I know you’re probably thinking you’ve read this article before; it certainly feels as though this writer has written it before. The Saga Of Ratrick has been keeping us on the edge of our seats for years, with constant twists and turns in their very public relationship. But now, it seems that the final chapter in their explosive romance has finally been completed.

“After over a week of the masses speculating on social media, actress Rachel Howard confirmed the end of her engagement with fellow actor and music superstar, Patrick Brewer, with a post on her Instagram. Howard shared how much she’s hurting in her post, saying she’s ‘heartbroken’, and that ‘the best years of [her] life were spent with him’. Since confirming their split, she’s gone on to post quite a few times about their relationship, as well as praising her close friends for getting her through this difficult time.

“Brewer, on the other hand, has been too busy to post anything on his social media. Apparently, the former child star moved out of his Los Angeles home, and to New York this week, putting as much distance as he can between he and Howard. He was spotted in SoHo with model Stevie Budd, though sources close to both say that there’s nothing romantic between them.

“Howard reportedly still has the engagement ring, and was photographed in Beverly Hills wearing it. A few sources say she’s still holding onto hope that they’ll be together again, but Brewer’s reps have stated that the relationship has run its course. He has not returned any contact she’s extended to him, and has no plans to do so.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Stevie drags Patrick along to the gallery opening as her plus one. He’s been moping around his apartment since he moved in, and she’s not a good enough person to take on all of his friendship needs. Patrick is hardly kicking and screaming, though. He needs a night out, and he needs to make more friends in New York, and he thinks going to an art gallery opening is a great way to let off some steam. Maybe he’ll increase his culture capacity. At the very least, he hopes to find something good for the bare wall in his apartment.

Stevie has been pretty mum on the details, saying it was her friend, David’s art galleryopening, and that it would probably be a very formal event, A-List type of event. Other than that, Patrick isn’t sure what to expect. He imagines a slew of photographers by the door, and gorgeous, statuesque artists in expensive outfits. He can picture obscure, modern art, and all the idiots bullshitting as they stroke their chins around the pieces.

For all of his daydreaming in the back of the car, Patrick isn’t prepared for the experience of arriving. The statuesque people he pictured aren’t inside, they’re waiting in line out the door, hoping to be able to get in. The handful of photographers is actually a fleet of paparazzi, pointing their cameras at the door of the car, waiting for a celebrity to step out. The bouncer at the door is menacing, and Patrick watches him tell someone to fuck off.

Patrick turns in his seat to look at Stevie, who is engrossed in her phone, and has been for a majority of their ride here. “I thought this was supposed to be an art gallery opening?” He comments, gesturing to the tinted window.

Stevie looks up from her phone. “It is,” she says, shaking her hair over her shoulder and shoving her phone into the clutch she brought with her.

“It looks like we just pulled up to the best club in the world,” Patrick snarks, plainly, glancing at the insane line he’s going to jump ahead of.

Stevie shrugs, but her face remains as blank as it ever is. “Why can’t it be both?” She ponders.

Patrick rolls his eyes, but opens the car door. As soon as it’s cracked, he can hear the clicking of cameras speed into overtime. He ignores the photographers as they call his name, trying to get him to look into their lenses so they can get paid twice as much. Stevie gets out of the car behind them and loops her arm through his. Patrick is more than happy to take the lead, escorting Stevie down the carpet. What kind of art opening had a red carpet? What, exactly, did Patrick agree to when he said he would come here tonight?

As they approach, the mountainous bouncer instantly recognizes them and moves the velvet rope out of the way for them. It’s hardly the first time Patrick has been given the Superstar Treatment, but it’s never been at such a prestigious, superfluous event before. His shoulders straighten slightly as he walks past the bouncer, giving him a respectful nod.

As ornate as the outside of the event is, it’s nothing compared to what’s just inside the doors. The decorations around the gallery are expensive-looking, but tasteful. There are well-dressed waiters serving flutes of champagne to all the guests. There’s a DJ, somewhere, spinning jazzy, low-fi beats that stimulate the atmosphere. The most gorgeous supermodels Patrick has ever seen are in stylish suits and immaculate gowns. It’s not just supermodels, either. Socialites and actors and politicians, every famous person with any kind of influence in New York all seem to be in attendance. The only time he sees anything like this is during awards ceremonies. Everyone is chatting and laughing loudly, like this isn’t the strangest thing Patrick has seen.

As Patrick takes notice of all the other guests, they notice Patrick right back. A murmur ripples through the extensive crowd, and he can hear the patrons whispering his and Stevie’s names. Now, Patrick knows he’s near the top of the social hierarchy of the world, his many years in the entertainment industry really set him up well, but he’s never grasped how high up the food chain he really is like he’s grasping it now. He watches a senator titter at his presence, he feels the appraising eyes of the most beautiful people in the world, and he realizes that everyone knows who he is, and not because they have to.

Stevie can feel him tensing next to her. If she wanted a panic attack for a party partner, she would have showed up three hours earlier with David. She tugs Patrick towards the bar along the wall to their left. “C’mon,” she prompts. “Let’s get drunk and pretend like we’re cultured.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m uncultured,” Patrick smirks, but is eager to get a drink to take the edge off, to help him pretend like half the room isn’t staring at him.

Stevie snorts. “Please,” she jibes. “You’re a child star. Of course you’re uncultured.”

Patrick grins at his friend as they approach the bar. One of the well-dressed caterers behind said bar is in front of them immediately. Patrick orders a whiskey for each of them, but as soon as he looks away from her, she’s back into her phone. He doesn’t ask her what’s so important, he knows she doesn’t like to open up. Patrick just thinks it’s nice to see her smiling, even if it’s down to her phone.

Patrick thanks the bartender and slips a couple of bills into their tip jar. Working an event like this one can’t possibly be easy. He takes a long sip of his drink and scans the room. Eyes dart from him when he meets them for a moment.

“So, where’s your friend?” Patrick asks, wondering how Stevie has a close friend who would not only own an art gallery, but would throw an event like this one, and subsequently invite Stevie.

She shrugs, barely looking up from the text she’s constructing. “Somewhere around here, probably,” she says, absentmindedly.

Patrick smirks into his drink as he takes another sip. “I’m going to go shopping,” he tells her. “Are you coming?”

There’s a long pause as Stevie types. Patrick takes it as a ‘no’ and starts to walk away. “I’ll catch up,” Stevie says, finally looking up at his retreating form. Patrick tilts his drink towards her in the air, and she returns the gesture with a smirk.

Had he been able to ignore the patrons, Patrick might have had a good time. The art is incredible, if not a little heady. The music is good, and the drinks keep coming. But he can’t ignore the patrons. He can’t stop feeling someone’s gaze on him the whole time. Every time he moves, peoples heads snap away from him. He knows they’re talking about him. He stares at the art by himself, sipping his whiskey and pretending like he doesn’t hear his own name, or the name of his ex-fiancée, being whispered loudly.

He should be used to this by now. He’s been in the limelight since he was ten and got his big break when he was cast in a major motion picture with Robert DeNiro. Ever since then, his parents, agent, publicist, and anyone else who had an opinion and a mouth to voice it, pushed Patrick to stay in the biz. He’d quit full-time acting in his teens, finding solace in music, throwing himself into it. His first record, released when he was twenty, went quadruple platinum, and, at that point, Patrick Brewer was already solidified in his icon status. With a few more studio albums and the occasional film role, his fame persevered at a constant high. Twenty years of hard work put him at the top of the food chain. So, he should be used to the whispering.

But he’s not. Especially among this crowd of people. Patrick has never been in a situation where he’s an innocent bystander, a simple partygoer, and he’s still the center of attention. He hates that no one will talk to him, or even make eye-contact with him for longer than a second. He doesn’t belong here. Maybe this was a mistake.

Everyone else seems to be having a good time. Patrick doesn’t want to be a wet blanket, he doesn’t want to be spotted leaving the party too early. But he’s pretty fucking tired of being the subject of hushed conversations that he’s never included in.

He wanders the gallery, trying to find a place that’s the least occupied where he can quietly get his shit together. The halls twist and turn, with interesting, yet cohesive artwork lining them. He could see himself spending an afternoon or two here, just to take it all in. As he meanders, the crowd thins.

Eventually, he turns a corner and finds a food table, with only one person hovering at the table. At Patrick’s intrusion, the well-dressed man spins around to stare at him. Patrick’s eyes dart over his form instinctively, because of his outfit; the man wearing a strange, black and white, patterned suit. Instead of pants, it’s shorts in the same print as the jacket, with a heavy mesh skirting around the back. His skin is radiant, which is an adjective Patrick rarely uses. His hair is immaculately styled into a high pompadour that Patrick would never be able to work his own hair into. His mouth is half-full of tabouli. Patrick sort of grins at the sight.

“Sorry,” Patrick says, quickly. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

He watches the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows his bite. The man tilts his head up slightly, and lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you and me, both,” he deadpans.

Patrick gets he’s walked in on a man desperate to be alone at the art event of the year. “I’ll go,” He says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb and taking a step back. “Leave you alone. Sorry.”

“No, no,” The man says, his hands flailing around. “I just thought I was shame eating in private, is all. You’re more than welcome to take safe harbor here, away from that whole freak fest.” He gestures in a circle with an open hand in the direction Patrick has just come from.

Patrick laughs softly as he steps closer to the table. He’s pulled in by this man and his magnetic force. Patrick wouldn’t have been able to stop his feet from carrying him over if he tried. He recognizes this man pretty easily, especially as he gets closer. “This is your party, isn’t it?” He asks, identifying David Rose from magazine spreads, and viral memes, and from his family’s reality television show. He’s impossible to miss. “You’re David. Right?” David nods, and ducks his head. “I’m Patrick.”

“Trust me, everyone in this building knows who you are,” David tells him. Patrick is surprised to hear that so bluntly, but, more strangely, it amuses him. “Sorry. That was a pretty fucking rude way to say that. It’s just that, you know-. You’re a cultural icon? Like, Mariah famous. Everyone knows who you are, not just in this building.”

Patrick snorts and shakes his head at the comment. “Thanks, I guess,” he says, shrugging. He doesn’t really want to talk about himself. Everyone at this party has done enough of that for his liking. “So, why are you hiding back here? Not that I doubt how delicious all these crostinis are.”

The corners of David Rose’s lips turn downward, and he huffs sharply through his nose. “I just caught my date making out with some nobody runway model against the painting Margeax Ogden donated, and decided I’ve had quite enough of this crowd,” he says, his voice hardened and bitter.

That concept doesn’t make any sense to Patrick. Of all of the beautiful, statuesque creatures inhabiting this building, the man in front of Patrick is, by far, the most alluring. Patrick doesn’t have time to unpack that thought completely right now. David’s outfit might capture one’s attention, but it’s his eyes that hold Patrick. His voice is melodic, and his tone is comforting, even if he’s upset. Someone attended the social event of the season with David Rose, the host of said evening, and had the audacity to kiss someone else? Patrick scoffs. “Yeah, they all kind of suck,” he agrees with a sigh.

David laughs through his nose, and it’s not as humorless this time. “I’d think someone like you would love this,” he says, and can tell he’s being teased.

“Someone like me?” He muses, shifting his weight and tilting his chin slightly. He doesn’t feel offended, though.

“Yeah, someone like you,” David replies, grinning from one side of his mouth, like he’s trying to hide how amused he is. “A superstar, with billions of adoring fans. You’re the talent of our generation, you’re basically an EGOT. You getting photographed walking in here tonight probably already has you trending.”

That wasn’t exactly true; Patrick hadn’t won the Oscar he was nominated for at just nineteen, not that he’d expected to, and he hadn’t been nominated for a Tony, but didn’t have any work that could have qualified. And he’s not quite so sure about the billions of fans, but he doesn’t mind the inflation, at least, not when it’s coming from David.

Patrick nods anyway, fighting to keep the grin from his face. “Okay, well, what about you?” He snarks right back. “I mean, this is your place, and your friends, and you escaped from this party first.”

David’s face contorts into an indignant expression. “Excuse me,” he says, holding up a finger. “My sort-of boyfriend just made out with the tenth place runner-up in a Twiggy lookalike contest, and it’s not my fault if no one else at this party eats.”

Patrick nods, letting the smile form fully on his face. “You’re right,” he says, holding up his hands. “My apologies. You have every right to be here, shame eating.” David’s lips twitch into a smile as he turns back to the delicate spread. “Is any of this stuff good?”

David seems to contemplate this for a moment. “You know,” he sighs. “No. It’s really not. Like, yes, obviously, it’s prepared immaculately, and it tastes delicious but-. It is so not what I want to eat right now.”

Patrick knows what he means. He nods along, looking over the crudités that are the least comforting foods he’s ever seen. “Is there a back door to this place?” He asks, looking at David. David turns to look at him, half bewildered, but half interested. “We could sneak out. There’s a hole-in-the-wall burger place I found recently not too far from here. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

David’s brows knit together, and he turns to face Patrick a little more completely. He’s trying to piece Patrick together, Patrick can tell. “Sure,” he decides. “It’s not my usual thing, no, but anything is probably better than this.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“BIZARRE BUDDING BROMANCE!

“Since the opening of David Rose’s art gallery in SoHo back in June, the social media star has been spotted several times with a new best friend, actor and music superstar, Patrick Brewer! They’re an unlikely duo, one no one saw them even having a conversation coming. Rose has had many frenemies situations in the past, with the saga of Vanessa Hudgens springing to mind first. Brewer, on the other hand, doesn’t make a lot of friends, especially with celebrities, so him making a friend in David Rose is a real surprise. While they might not have a lot in common, they seem to like spending time together. Their friendship is so pure, we hope it doesn’t fizzle out.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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David made his fame on his phone. Some would argue that David was born famous, but he refuses to accept his infancy acting credits as a launch into stardom. Sure, his father is a business tycoon, one of the richest men in the world, and sure, his mother is a household name due to her extensive IMDB page, and, sure, his phone contained a contact list of vague friends in the social a-list, but it wasn’t enough. He’s always wanted to stand on his own. He wanted to be noticed first. The first chance he got to do that, he took it.

So, David Rose became one of the first social media influencers. His lavish lifestyle and the celebrity friends in his posts gained him a massive following. He scraped his way to the top, forcing heads to turn towards him. It didn’t take long for the world’s eyes to be trained to him.

Maybe there was a small, two minute sex-tape with Shia LaBeouf that circulated on the internet, but David likes to pretend that has nothing to do with it.

David puts his life on social media. It’s why people still pay attention to him. He takes gorgeous selfies in expensive places. He films interesting moments in his gaudy life to share with the collective. There’s a few moments, at the start of his social media career, where he was a little concerned that people were only interested in his things, and not him. But the masses tell him that his facial expressions, and the way he speaks, and the way he interacts with his family is what they love, and that all the flash and glamour is like an added bonus. It’s nice to know people would love him if he were flat broke and sharing a bunk bed with his sister.

The Kardashians may have been the first with a family reality show, but the Roses did it better. They’re twice as wealthy, and three times more interesting. David getting brunch with his mother captivated the world, for some reason. He was in a million memes, splattered all over the web. Sure, there were nasty comments, but David’s been in front of a screen for as long as he’s been able to; his skin is thicker than any troll could penetrate.

Some of the people David sees hate to be a part of his stories. They lean away from the camera and hide their faces, or just tell him, straight up, to stop taking pictures. Others prompt it, desperate for his secondhand clout, for the fifteen minutes they’ll get for being in a five second story.

But Patrick just accepts it as part of David. At least, he’s never seemed to mind the fact that David’s phone is an appendage. He leans into the moments David captures, even though he’s not terribly active on his own social media accounts. He likes being seen with David, and he likes not being seen with David.

Since they met, and they shared ugly, greasy, delicious cheeseburgers at midnight in designer clothing, David and Patrick have jumped at every chance they have gotten to spend time together. The first four times they hung out, David didn’t post anything about it. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want Patrick to think he’s using him for bonus points on the Fame-O-Meter. Maybe it’s because this is the first thing in years he doesn’t want to share.

But Patrick inserts himself more and more into David’s life, and it becomes impossible not to share glimpses into his time with Patrick. Patrick shows up at the gallery with a coffee, and then a macchiato, and then he adds a sprinkle of cocoa, and asks David questions about the new art pieces. He invites him to lunch, and it becomes a weekly habit of trying new restaurants. They start to explore parts of the city that neither of them know together. Patrick comes with David to brunch with his mother, and compliments his father’s business practices, and even helps when Alexis calls as she’s running away from a gala in Istanbul, where her date’s father, some vague Archduke or whatever, has just mysteriously died, and she needs an alibi.

What’s more important is David inserts himself into Patrick’s life, too. He willingly goes to sports games with Patrick and Stevie, and he actually ends up having a good time, even if he doesn’t care for the sports. He goes to the occasional photo shoot Patrick must conduct in his professional life and gives pointers. He even finds himself in Patrick’s living room on some nights, listening as Patrick strums his guitar, slowly writing new songs. And he really enjoys every moment of it. He can’t remember a time when things felt so easy between him and anyone else.

David gets caught up in the tabloids. He can’t help it. He has a direct line to the public in his hand at almost all times. The media is obsessed with them individually. Together, they’re the latest craze. His mentions skyrocket because of Patrick. They’re best friends, their friendship is so sweet, no one has ever seen friends like these two.

The ember of desire that only smolders hotter every time David sees Patrick is anything but friendly. The longing looks and lingering touches that Patrick extends are not what David would describe as amicable. The speculators don’t see what’s really between them, even if there’s not actually anything between them. It’s been nothing more than a long hug, or a touch on the knee, but it feels like so much more than anything David’s ever felt, more inspiring to Patrick than a five year engagement had.

It’s not long before they’re with each other almost every day, their daily tasks seeming to gel just as well as their personalities. Which is how Patrick finds himself, on a nice, Wednesday afternoon, in his fifth designer boutique of the day. David has been looking for a specific sweater all day, one he must have dreamed about. The four previous stores hadn’t had exactly what he was looking for, but David still left each with no less than two items per store. Patrick is tagging along because David’s clothes fascinate him almost as much as his conversation does, and he was promised lunch afterwards.

Somewhere in the middle of the fifth store, as he shuffles through the clothing racks, David gasps. “Oh my god!” He breathes, and pulls the sweater he’s been searching for all day from a rack. He holds it up to his body and turns to Patrick. “What do you think?” He asks.

Patrick has to admit, it’s a very nice sweater. While it’s similar to the million other sweaters David has looked at today, Patrick can pick up on the subtle differences he knows David likes. The neckline is a little wider. The material is softer, fuzzier than the others. The bottom hemline has a short, white gradient woven into the fabric that David had been describing all morning. He picks up the sleeve of the sweater, his fingers brushing over David’s arm. It’s just as soft as it looks, and Patrick can already see how good it would look on David. Then again, just about anything looks good on David.

“I really like it,” he says, smiling up at David with a nod. “It looks good. Is this the one?”

David nods, his eyes sparkling. “This is the one,” he confirms.

Patrick grins at David. “Another beautiful, black sweater to add to the collection,” he teases. “What number is this one? Three thousand and seven? Eight?”

David’s face supports a surprised grimace that only makes Patrick grin wider at him. “You’re not tricking me into another Fergie reference,” David says, seriously. “And you have no room to talk, with your endless parade of blue clothes.” He gestures over Patrick’s body, a smirk threatening to break through on David’s face.

“At least I have different shades,” Patrick defends his wardrobe. “All you have is black.”

David holds up a finger. “Uh, I have more than just black clothes,” he defends right back, but can’t fight his smile anymore. “I just only wear black because it’s chic and is never out.”

“Sure, David,” Patrick keeps on teasing, his eyes trailing up and down David’s body slowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” When David comes to the complete realization that Patrick is flirting with him, he tucks his lips in between his teeth, failing to suppress his grin.

“So, what, you don’t like my clothes?” He flirts right back. The way Patrick’s eyes glimmer sends a shiver through David.

“I didn’t say that,” he comments, his voice low. David has never heard Patrick sound this way, and he wants. He wants that voice in his ear, telling him secrets.

“So, you like this sweater?” David asks, but he’s not actually talking about the sweater. His voice is soft and sweet and just for Patrick.

Patrick doesn’t pull his eyes from David’s when he answers, because he knows what David means. “I like the sweater a lot,” he confirms, inching towards David. His hand drops the sweater’s sleeve so he can touch David’s arm, his fingers grazing slowly over the fabric of his current sweater.

David’s breath catches in his throat, and his feet carry him the extra step into Patrick’s space. They shouldn’t do this here. David can see, over Patrick’s shoulder, the paparazzi who have been stalking them all day. There are people around, probably listening and pretending like they’re not. David really shouldn’t do this here, but his mouth has always moved faster than his brain.

“What are we doing?” He whispers.

An infinitely huge part of Patrick wants to inform David that they’re shopping for sweaters, just to mess with him, but he knows what David is asking. He glances around, making quick eye contact with the sales associate who has noticed how close they’re standing. “You want to have this conversation here?” He replies just as softly, meeting David’s eyes again.

David huffs. “I don’t really want to have this conversation at all, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen,” David says, rolling his eyes. He drops his head and takes a breath, steadying himself but not stepping back from Patrick. “As much as I’ve been enjoying the looks you give me when you think I’m not paying attention, and all the times you let your hand linger on my arm or my knee, I don’t want to get too invested in-. In all this. Not if it doesn’t mean-.”

Patrick shakes his head quickly. “It does,” he interrupts quietly before David can talk himself blue. “It means everything. You mean everything, David. You’re the first person in my life who sees me, and not my career. You’re the only person who makes everything make sense. I don’t have to be anyone I’m not when I’m with you. That means more to me than anything else, David.”

David blinks a hundred times in three seconds, keeping emotional tears at bay. He will not cry here, no matter how beautiful that sentiment is. He wants to touch Patrick’s cheek, to draw him in for the first of many gentle kisses. But he can’t. He can’t bring himself to have his first kiss with Patrick be at a boutique, and caught on some photographer’s camera so that some douche can get paid. For the very first time in David’s life, he doesn’t want to share a private moment of his life. He has to force himself to step back from Patrick, catching his breath.

“I-. Yes,” he bumbles, nodding like an idiot. “Me, too. All of that. I’ve never-.” He takes another deep breath, and his words bunch up in his throat.

Patrick just nods, sliding his hand down David’s arm until he takes David’s hand. “I know,” Patrick promises, a fond smile on his face. “Me, neither. This is new. But good.”

David nods, smiling at Patrick and squeezing his hand. “Very good,” he agrees. He tucks his lips between his teeth to stop himself from kissing Patrick. Good God, he wants to swoop in and kiss the ever-loving shit out of Patrick, and from the way his eyes keep darting down to David’s lips, Patrick wants it, too. But not here. Not yet. “I’m gonna-. Buy this.” He holds up the sweater, the reason they’re in this store at all. “And then we can go get lunch?”

Patrick nods and drops David’s hand. “That sounds great,” he agrees easily. He takes a step towards the register, and David follows behind him. Their fingers itch towards each other, eager to touch again, but they can’t do that yet. Not with so many eyes, not when there’s so much unsettled between them.

After purchasing his sweater, David and Patrick decide to take a short detour to David’s apartment, as David is not interested in carrying around his bags as they grab lunch. Patrick happily takes two of them without asking, and carries them between his and David’s bodies. Their hands brush every few steps, and it’s close enough to what they want. Even though David’s apartment is just a few short blocks from the store, David still complains about the walk, and then complains about Patrick’s commentary on him getting a little exercise.

He still invites Patrick inside, so graciously, so that they could set David’s things down. He’ll organize them and put them in their appropriate places in his closet later; Patrick doesn’t need to know exactly how obsessive compulsive David is just yet. He sets his bags down on the couch, and Patrick follows David’s lead and does the same.

David catches Patrick’s eyes, then offers him a shy smile. Patrick smiles right back, and steps into David’s space. He takes both of David’s hands in his own and takes a breath.

“Do you want to go to dinner with me?” He asks David, low and soft, and David can’t help but lean into him.

“We’re already going to lunch,” he says, intelligently.

Patrick’s smile takes an amused note. “I mean, like, on a date, David,” he teases, threading their fingers together. “A real date, where we dress up really nice, and fight over the bill, and play footsie under the table.”

David’s mouth twists to the side, and he shakes his head. “Is that not what’s going to happen at lunch?” He keeps ribbing. “Because I’m already dressed really nicely, and I’d play footsie with you anywhere.”

“What, you don’t want to get dinner with me?” Patrick asks, raising his brows. He knows better, though. He can read David’s face with ease, like he was born to decipher these expressions.

“I didn’t say that,” David steals Patrick’s line from earlier. It makes Patrick grin widely at him. “When would you like to take me to dinner?”

Patrick chuckles at David’s phrasing. “Friday?” He suggests.

David tries to be coy, but he can never seem to be his normal, charming self around Patrick. Luckily, Patrick seems to like the way David can’t hide from him. “Oh, so, like a real date night,” he keeps teasing, his smile spreading over his face. “Like, a romantic Friday evening, just the two of us.”

Patrick nods. “That’s exactly the idea,” he promises quietly.

David nods right back, understandingly. “Well, fortunately, I think I can clear my schedule for this coming Friday,” he offers, beaming at Patrick.

Patrick chuckles and shakes his head slightly. “Thank you, David, that’s very generous of you,” he whispers. “Are you going to have your assistant call my assistant to confirm?”

David rolls his eyes, but he’s not fighting off his smile anymore. “Shut up,” He says affectionately.

He detaches one of his hands from Patrick’s, lifting it to cradle Patrick’s jaw to pull him in for the kiss he’s been dreaming of all day, all month, since they met. It makes David’s heart swell, taking up twice more space in his chest than usual. It threatens to burst out and place itself in Patrick’s hands, right where it belongs. There’s a little voice in David’s head telling him that this is why nothing was right before Patrick, that this was always in his cards. When he pulls back and opens his eyes, the world looks a little clearer.

Patrick smiles, his eyes still closed. David thinks he looks so radiantly happy, and he wants to bring that look to Patrick’s face all the time. “Thank you, David,” he murmurs, his eyes opening slowly. “I, uh-. I was starting to get scared that we would leave here without us having done that. So, thank you.”

David blinks a few time at that sweet sentiment. It makes his heart throb. He hopes to hear an infinite amount of confessions like that from Patrick. “Well, I am a very generous person,” David breathes, incapable of not making a joke. It’s effective, because Patrick laughs like the angel he is.

“Should we go?” Patrick suggests, gesturing with his free hand over his shoulder to the door.

David shrugs, still grinning. “Just one more thing,” he says, leaning in. He presses another soft kiss to Patrick’s lips, memorizing the feeling. He wants to kiss these lips as often as he can, to claim them as his. When David slowly pulls back, Patrick chases after his lips. It makes David smile, and makes his heart do a somersault, still threatening to bust out and fit into Patrick’s back pocket. “Now we can go.”

Patrick lets out a breath as his eyes flutter open. When he sees David’s smile, his whole face lights up, and David knows he’ll never get tired of this. Patrick nods and takes a step backwards towards the door, then another, dragging David with him so they can go to lunch. 

They drop hands just before they step out of David’s building, and they both instantly regret it. There’s no shame between them, between an act as simple as holding hands as they walk to lunch together. Instead, David locks his arm with Patrick’s. It’s less intimate than threading their fingers together. It’s an act David would do with Stevie or Alexis, one that might buy them a little time with the media as their relationship develops into something real and beautiful. Patrick is more than delighted to give his arm to David as they walk, even if he’d rather be swinging their hands together between their bodies.

It feels silly, to play this all down. They’re both fearful of falling prey to nasty rumors that can damage their relationship before it can land on its feet. What they feel is real and pure. But it’s also new, and it’s exploitable. Where there’s a story, there’s money to be made, and even the most trivial of moments in both David and Patrick’s lives seem to be stories these days. This moment is not a trivial one.

But, after a lovely meal, a metric ton of flirtatious teasing, and a rousing round of footsie under the table, they leave the restaurant hand in hand, not caring anymore about who can see what.

They end up back at Patrick’s apartment; it’s a little closer to the restaurant. It’s just like all the other times they wound up at Patrick’s. David inserts himself into Patrick’s couch, but, this time, he’s closer to where he knows Patrick likes to sit when he plays his guitar. The first time Patrick has grabbed his guitar, David had been mortified, even though they were one on one. For some reason, David’s endless pessimism had lead him to believe that Patrick wasn’t as good as the recording studios made him sound on his albums. He hadn’t been counting on Patrick’s dexterity on the frets, or his butter-soft voice, but was, and still is, delighted by it. Now, David’s a little more used to it. Now, he happily lounges near Patrick while he strums his guitar, mixing songs David likes in with the songs he’s trying to write.

When Patrick switches to Avril Lavigne, because he knows how David secretly loves her, David beams and nods along. Right at the end of the song, he records a few quick seconds for his story, but kisses Patrick before he posts it. The seven second video isn’t posted for another twenty minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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DAVRICK IS REAL

@breweroseupdates

 

“Your source for all updates on Patrick Brewer and David Rose.”

 

Joined August 2017

28 Following86k Followers

 

“Patrick Brewer Photographed By Esteemed Celebrity Photographer, Sebastien Raine, Accompanied To The Shoot By David Rose. [Attached: a distance photograph of David holding the door to Sebastien’s studio for Patrick. Both are smiling widely at each other.]”

 

“David Rose Displays New Series From Artist David Hockney.”

 

“From David’s Instagram Story: [Attached: a video that slowly pans over a picturesque ridge, showcasing a beautiful vineyard and winery. The camera stops on Patrick, a crown emoji pinned to the top of his head. He says, ‘There’s some muskmelon goodness to this Oak Chardonnay,’ to which David replies with an exasperated, ‘Oh my god,’ before the video cuts off.]”

 

“when someone says david and patrick are just friends [Attached: a screenshot from Rose Garden, season two, episode six, wherein David, Alexis and Moira are all making matching, repulsed expressions.]”

 

“PATRICK IS WRITING NEW MUSIC REPEAT PATRICK IS WRITING NEW MUSIC OH MY GOD WHAT IF HE WRITES A LOVE SONG FOR DAVID”

 

“Retweeted From Moira Is My Mom @ewdavid: ‘patrick got lunch one-on-one with moira and honestly? we stan two legends today’ “

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sunday mornings are times together that both David and Patrick have come to cherish greatly. They rarely have anywhere they need to be before noon, so they can allow themselves lazy mornings in bed. They can drift in and out of sleep together for a few hours, as the sun slowly warms the city.

By the time David is completely awake, there’s a coffee on the night table, prepared just the way he likes it. It makes him feel a little more forgiving about being left in bed by himself. He can hear Patrick in the other room, picking new chords softly. There is no chance that David will ever get tired of this feeling. Though the stretch of mattress that Patrick has occupied is already cool, David doesn’t feel alone, and it makes him happier than he could have ever imagined for himself.

Slowly, David pulls himself upright in bed. He reaches for the steaming mug that Patrick’s left for him and takes a long sip, his eyes falling closed. He enjoys the coffee and the puzzle piece of music he’s been rewarded with for being bothered to wake up today. It soon becomes not enough for David. He drags himself out of bed and slips on a pair of Patrick’s sweatpants, as he can’t seem to find his own. He’s eager to get to the other room, where Patrick, more coffee, and his phone are all waiting for him. As he pulls on a crisp undershirt, David grabs his coffee mug and exits the bedroom.

Patrick’s talented fingers don’t falter as he smiles up at David. He’s in David’s missing joggers, too long and bunched even further at the ankles, his guitar pressed against his bare chest. David can’t stop the smile from forming on his face.

“Good morning,” Patrick greets. He tilts his chin up as David comes closer.

“Good morning,” David returns, his voice still sleep-soft. He leans down and kisses Patrick gently, relishing in the way Patrick’s fingers falter on the frets. “I was wondering what happened to my pants.” He pulls back just enough to let his eyes wander over Patrick’s body appreciatively.

Patrick looks down to his knees with a grin. “They were closer than mine were,” he explains himself, picking his strumming back up. He keeps the bright smile on his face as David settles into the couch beside him.

“Sure,” David smirks, nodding slowly as he reaches for his phone. He doesn’t comment further, though. He likes the sight of Patrick in his clothes. He sneaks one last lingering look before snatching his phone from the coffee table and starting his business for the day.

David enjoys the sound of Patrick’s music as he sends off a few emails and checks in with his manager and publicist. Every so often, Patrick reaches over and scribbles a lyric he’s toying with.

“What’s a better rhyme for ‘green’?” He asks, scratching out a line he doesn’t like. He looks at David expectantly.

“What do you have?” David asks.

“Clean,” Patrick recites. “And unseen.”

David taps his chin. “Mean,” he lists off. “Obscene. Submarine? Magazine. Between.” Patrick smirks at his suggestions. “What?”

Patrick shakes his head, slightly, letting out the softest of laughs. “I’m writing about you,” he admits. “So mean? Obscene? I think I could fit those in.”

David narrows his eyes at Patrick. “What do I have to do with green?” He asks, leaning over to look at Patrick’s notebook at what he’s written.

Patrick quickly pulls the lyrics away from David’s prying eyes. “You’ll find out,” he teases, cheekily.

David tries to glare at Patrick, but has never, in all the time they’ve known each other now, been able to pull it off. The expression only makes Patrick grin even wider. They stare at each other for a second before David turns his eyes back down to his phone. As he types out a Tweet, Patrick returns to strumming his new chords and humming his incomplete melody.

“David Rose @davidrose: ‘to rhyme the words ‘green’, ‘mean’, and ‘obscene’ in regards to yours truly really feels like an attack on my character, so be on the lookout for @brewsky ‘s upcoming album if you want to hear slander against me’.”

David sends out the tweet, and Patrick snorts when he’s notified about it. “So dramatic,” He teases. “You don’t even know about the ‘crime’/‘paradigm’ couplet yet.”

David huffs and slumps further into Patrick’s couch. “None of these words are even remotely characteristic of me,” he complains, waving a hand.

“And yet, I get to use them so well,” Patrick teases, leaning all the way over to press a kiss to David’s lips. He lingers by David’s lips, stealing another peck. Before he can pull back again, David cradles his jaw and pulls him in again. They get a little lost in each other for a minute or two. Slowly, they pull back to look at each other. “Do you trust me?”

David is dazed by the question, having not expected such a silly inquiry. “Obviously,” He says, a little breathlessly.

“Then trust me,” Patrick insists, but still smiles at David. “You’ll love the song when I’m done. And if you don’t, I don’t have to record it. No one else ever has to hear it.”

David takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh, his forehead falling forward to press against Patrick’s. “Fine,” he groans. “You can write your strangely-worded love song, I guess.”

Patrick lights up in a beautiful smile no one else would ever see. It melts David’s resolve a little. He knows that Patrick would never make him sound bad, that Patrick’s string of words to describe David would be nothing short of glorious. David’s heart still gives a little quiver; no one has written anything for him before, aside from long rant posts about how he shouldn’t be as famous as he is. He trusts Patrick more than he’s trusted anyone else. Whatever Patrick has to sing about David will be beautiful, even if he’s using words like that.

“Thank you,” Patrick breathes. He leans in once more to kiss David again, lingering against his lips. David smiles absentmindedly, his fingers caressing Patrick’s jaw.

“You’re welcome,” he says, almost flippantly, as he pulls away.

Patrick looks over David for a moment, watching as David falls back into his phone world, before he keeps on writing his song.

After his melody is complete and his chorus is in a good place, Patrick lets himself look back over to David. Even just a glance tends to distract Patrick; the fact that he gets any work done when he’s with David is a miracle in and of itself.

David’s face is rumpled as he scrolls through his social media feed. It’s beyond his need for glasses; Patrick can see that something he’s scrolling through is annoying him a little more with every post past.

“Has anyone ever told you that your face will get stuck that way?” Patrick teases as he pulls his guitar away from his body. He puts his instrument in its stand nearby carefully.

David’s face softens instantly when he turns his eyes back to Patrick. “My mother used to say so,” he explains. “But her vocabulary is more impressive, so not exactly in those words.”

Patrick snorts, scooting along the couch to get into David’s personal space. “What’s up?” He asks, leaning into David’s side and pressing his lips to his shoulder.

“Nothing,” David sighs, locking his phone and tossing it aside, preferring Patrick to anything that could possibly be on his screen. “Just the heteronormativity of the world giving my the urge to roll my eyes so hard they fall out of my head.”

Patrick smirks into David’s shoulder. “What happened?” He asks, picking his head up slightly to perch his chin beside David’s ear.

“How are there still so many fucking people who think that we’re just two buds hanging out?” David asks, but Patrick knows he’s being rhetorical. “It’s not like we’re subtle. Like, the willful ignorance is almost insulting at this point. I mean, unless you get photographed making out with a lot of your bros in clubs?” He arches an eyebrow at Patrick when he pulls back just slightly.

“Only the hottest of my bros,” Patrick teases, rubbing a gentle hand between David’s shoulder blades. “Does it bother you that much?”

David lets out a soft, frustrated groan. “It’s not like it makes me actively angry at all times of the day,” he defends himself. “Just-.” He sighs, trying to collect his words. “They don’t-.” He can’t find the right words. They’re right there, but he can’t grasp them.

Patrick can, though. He pulls the words from right between them. “They don’t treat us like other couples,” he supples, nodding in agreement. He may not be as attached to their public story as David is, but he’s not oblivious. “If one of us were a woman, there would have been rumors from the start.”

David rolls his eyes. “The magazines asked the public if they thought you and Stevie could possibly a couple, but they can’t even comprehend that we actually are,” he complains. “There’s at least a paragraph about our bromance in every tabloid in every grocery store in North America. Like, we went to Cabo San Lucas together, and they basically sold it as Two Pals Gettin’ Some Sun, Platonically.”

“It’s because of me,” Patrick says, softly, pulling away and looking down. David and any other guy would be subjected to rumors, but not Patrick. It hits him like a ton of bricks. “They don’t want to out me before I’m ready.”

David huffs and wraps his arms around Patrick’s bare shoulders, pulling him in closely. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” He says, softly. David never had to come out publicly, but Patrick is another story. There was no references to him being gay in his teens. There had been no surprise to the public when he started dating women, like David had received. David knows that Patrick’s interest in men isn’t a recent discovery, but only because Patrick has shared that secret with David, late at night, with their arms wound around each other. The rest of the world doesn’t know Patrick like David does.

“No one will take us seriously unless I’m the one to say something,” Patrick breathes. He rubs his hands over his face, but leans completely into David. “I’m so sorry, David.”

“No,” David disagrees, shaking his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Patrick.” He presses a soft kiss to Patrick’s temple as he gathers himself. He’s got a knack for making a mountain of a molehill, he’s known that about himself for ages. He hadn’t intended to pressure his boyfriend out of the closet first thing in the morning, but it’s still what happened. That feeling churns David’s stomach. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, either,” Patrick promises him, his hands coming up to grasp David’s arms. “Is it ridiculous that I have to make some grand announcement about our relationship for it to be acknowledged? Yeah. But that’s not your fault, David.” He turns a little in David’s arms to look at him. A small smile spreads on his face. “I have nothing to hide. Everyone should know how happy you make me. I don’t mind telling the world that you’re my boyfriend.”

David tucks his lips between his teeth and brushes his nose along Patrick’s hairline. “How do you plan on going about doing that?” He asks, softly, before kissing wherever his lips land on Patrick’s face.

There’s a lingering moment of silence as they ease into each other’s touch. Soft and reverent, David’s fingers trail down Patrick’s side slowly. Patrick’s eyes close as he lets out a breath, easing into David. Lips brush gently down the side of Patrick’s cheek, kissing just in front of his ear, just below it, along his jaw. Any hesitation lingering in Patrick melts away. He never wants to hide how safe David makes him feel.

“There’s still a a few episodes of your show left to shoot, right?” Patrick says, his eyes fluttering back open, trying to come back down to earth.

David blinks a few times, his brain needing a moment to catch up to the question. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Two more for the season, and then we get a break. Why?”

Patrick turns in David’s arms to face him a little more completely. “What if we had a moment for the show?” He suggests, almost smiling at David. “Something that leaves no room for interpretation. Something your producers can hype up to bring in viewers.”

David’s brows raise. His face contorts into a million expressions, shifting in shades between surprise and adoration. “You’d stage a romantic moment to be filmed and put on television for me?” He breathes.

Patrick’s eyes go as soft as a chocolate bar in summer, making David’s insides go just as gooey. “Yeah,” he says, bobbing his head, but not tearing his eyes from David’s. It’s unspoken, but they both know, Patrick would do anything for David. “I’ll be needing a five percent cut of your profits for the episode, though.”

David fights a grin, and loses. “Oh, sure,” He snarks, nodding slightly. “I think I can make that happen. I’ll even throw in a blowjob or two.”

Patrick doesn’t try to hide his grin. “What a deal,” he murmurs, already leaning in to kiss David.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“Since the season six finale of Rose Garden this past Friday, the internet has been abuzz with the end of all the speculation. The cat is officially out of the bag: David Rose and Patrick Brewer are a couple!

“Brewer made several appearances throughout this past season of the Rose Family’s hit reality program, which only furthered the speculation about how close he and the Rose heir had gotten. The screenshots and gifs of their sweet moments were inescapable for the past few months. Near the end of the final episode of the season, David and Patrick shared tender ‘I Love You’s, leaving no room for anymore questions about their relationship.

“After the episode aired, in case there was any misunderstanding left, Brewer posted a semi-blurry selfie of the two of them on his Instagram. In the picture, he’s pressing a kiss to Rose’s cheek. It’s worth noting that, in all of the pictures of David Rose that have circulated on the internet, never has he looked so happy. Brewer captioned the photo, ‘To answer all of your very nice questions, yes, David is a terrible blanket hog, but I’m okay with that.’

“There’s been an outpouring of support for the couple. The amateur sleuths of the internet have been piecing together a timeline of their relationship, proving to many disbelieving fans that this is not a recent development. Some believe it’s been just a few, short months, whereas others believe it’s been nearly a year since Patrick and David made things official between them. While it’s unconfirmed by either side, many stans believe that their romantic interest in each other began the night they met, at Rose’s art gallery opening over a year ago, just a few short hours after season five of Rose Garden was wrapped. Whether it’s fact or fabrication, it’s entertaining to watch, and it’s so sweet, either way.

“For some reason, this doesn’t feel like your standard fare Hollywood couple; David and Patrick feel like they might be the real deal. It’s too soon to tell, but this writer hopes to continue on with the subject of the new royal couple of Hollywood for many years to come.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
